Of Letters and Guitars
by Reposhillo
Summary: A look at the Dark Purveyor's perspective. Mainly between two certain Punk and Rock n Rolling Zombies. LEWIS/ZED
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'm doing it! I'm writing my first Lollipop Chainsaw fic. And whoa lookie here its Lewis Legend/Zed. First chapter is short because its like a intro to the real deal.**

**Warnings: Male x male, mentions of gore and other zombie-like things. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters mentioned.**

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Where it all started, one self proclaimed Punk Rock Zombie couldn't tell you.

Zed, as known by his comrades and undead alike, hardly remembered how it was to be alive. Not alive as he sometimes felt when he was jamming on stage with a crowd of undead cheering him on or slaughtering the living, but having a beating heart inside of a warm-skinned body.

Most everything past his life of being selected as a Dark Purveyor had been blurred. He did remember wandering around rotten world, which was basically the exact replica of the living world, only more apocalypse-esque. And hordes upon hordes of undead wandering around. Now and then small little portals would connect the two realms and unfortunate living beings would find themselves thrust into rotten world.

He remembered being angry. A lot. After all, rotten world was a big place, and there weren't many zombies with a solid personality and unique skills like he had. Not like Vikke, Jonesy, Mariska, and _him._

Lewis Legend.

The man that started it all. The man that had slammed his large machine gun custom guitar into the back of his head to snap him out of one of his murdering fits inflicted upon his fellow zombies. Could you blame him? Being alone….eventually becomes a very sad thing. Something Zed felt he alone suffered from, unaware that it was something all the Dark Purveyors shared. However he was unaware of their familiarity with the subject, so he chose to bottle it up and keep it hidden. Anyway, the "Rock n Roller" Zombie,as he was dubbed, had been the first to find him.

Needless to say that had been a turning point in Zed's life. Although at first, he might have been a little difficult. As in telling the other man to "Piss off" and go back to wherever it was he came from "Or elsae.". Lewis had only shrugged at his threat and continued to explain how Zed had been chosen to become a Dark Purveyor (Not that he knew what the fuck that was at the time.) and join four others. Zed had refused, and attacked. Which ended pretty badly for him.

All his letters were gunned to shreds by Lewis, and a solid whack to the front of his skull had knocked him out long enough for the man to hoist him over his shoulder like he was nothing and sling him over the back of his motorcycle. Zed never forgot their conversation.

_"Why?…" He rasped, pale blue eyes fluttering open and close, trying to stay concious._

_"Cause' your Special" Came the gruff reply "In more ways then one, Zed."_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Onward to chapter two. I should mention that though it somewhat centers on Lewis/Zed, its going to have the other Purveyors perspectives and my headcanon histories/past for them.**

**Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me**

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Lewis sighed, looking below as Zed and Vikke once more argued about trivial things. Mariska was busy feeding her zombified chickens and Jonesy was probably with a few Zombie gals.

The strongest Purveyor stretched out his limbs and leaned against Elly, his motorcycle. He watched in interest as Zed's eyes seemed to glow brightly in passion at the topic at hand.

Passion.

It was something Lewis loved. Something he craved. Something he yearned for. And he had found varying passions in his four fellow undead.

Lewis closed his eyes, losing himself in memories. These had not been his first comrades. No there had been other zombies that had yearned the title of "Dark Purveyor" in the past, but they had all perished, leaving only Lewis. The zombie sometimes even believed that he was the original first Purveyor. But, he remembered that had been someone else's title, until they had fallen in battle.

Unlike many of the undead that roamed the Rotten world, Lewis remembered everything quite clearly. Perfect memory…Lewis would be quick to tell you that its a curse. From the time of his days as one of the living, to his unfortunate demise, to his fucked up version of a "second chance" in the Rotten world. He remembered it like it had been yesterday.

_"F-Fuck…..Hehe I fucked up bad this time huh?" Lewis rasped, attempting to shove the curved metal he was embedded out of the way. His limbs felt vaguely numb, a warning that should have triggered some flags in his mind. It had taken several hours to dig himself out of what used to be his old motorcycle, Nero._

_"Can't believe I lived through tha-Wait where the fuck am I?" He groaned, holding onto his head as he collapsed onto the ground. _

_A good look into the rusty colored puddle next to him finally sent him into alarm. Patches of skin missing, pale blue eyes, and an unhealthy pale glow. To say he may have had a panic attack was an understatement._

Two years.

It had taken Lewis two years to figure out what he was exactly, and where he was. Accepting the fact that he was dead had been hard, but not as hard as accepting that he was part of something believed to be a myth, a Zombie. Accepting that he had a craving for flesh (Living, Undead, it didn't matter, although living tasted oh so much better).

Many of the undead he had encountered were vague on answering his questions, usually just spouting nonsense of some sort. So with a motorcycle he had built from the scraps of his old one and various junk yards he raided, he rode along the Rotten world version of what would be 'America.' He had went as far as the Ocean point, in all its greenish glory.

Another year he spent roaming the lands, until he came across a large pit that seemed endless. He had dropped a few items and even some of his fellow zombies into it just for kicks. That is until it started rumbling, and then he met it.

The king of the Undead, of everything rotten and cruel and just plain _evil_, KillaBilly.

The giant had rose from the depths of the pit, stretching out its limbs as if it had just been taking a long nap. Its had slipped off its shades to give a long hard glance at Lewis, who had been too in shock at the time to do anything, after all he had never encountered something like KillaBilly before. Then the giant undead mass of flesh leaned down as close to his level as it could, and gave a hard jab to his stomach, before it used its other hand to reach down into the pit where it had come from and brought up a book.

KillaBilly handed the flesh-bound book to Lewis with as much care as the behemoth could muster before it retreated back into the dark abyss it had come from.

It had taken a few minutes for the initial shock to wear off before Lewis snapped himself out of it and leaned against his motorcycle, snapping the bindings (Which he was absolutely positive were intestines) off the book, and then he opened it and began reading.

_And he learned everything._


End file.
